Run Through Walls
by Lennox13
Summary: The five of them were thrown together, without consent or warning, and told that they had to defend the universe. Nobody expects them not to have secrets. Supernatural Creatures AU.
1. Chapter 1: Shiro & Matt Pt1

**Eek! Agh, please excuse this self-indulgent fic. I know this has been done, but I couldn't resist. **

**Disclaimer: Title is from the song by The Script and I don't own VLD.**

I debated whether or not to make one of the team human, but it worked out well if they were all harbouring a secret. Also, team bonding and friendships are my priorities. Any inference to romance is unintentional (or is it?). But I acknowledge the fact that this is like 2049, or something, so sexuality is no longer such a heated debate.

**I live for reviews - any feedback is welcome. ****It's literally been a week since I joined the fandom, so any advice, corrections or suggestions are welcome. ****But, first, let's start the story...**

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Shiro was sitting on his bed, head gripped between his hands, and tried his best to calm down. His control was slipping and the anger and anguish welling up inside was not helping him keep his bloodlust tampered. Oh, what a fine mess he had wrought! He could feel the laughter, crazed and silent, scratching at the insides of his mind. He'd thought that he could have a dream, thought that he could live once more amongst humans. He'd gotten attached and now he would be disappointing the only friends he'd had in over a century. All because of his curse.

Unbidden, his hearing perked up, the scuffle of feet against tile alerting him to the nearing presence of an all-too-familiar young man. He was still a minute away, but the rest of the base was relatively empty, so Shiro could make out the pace that was uniquely Matt.

_Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy_? He laments again, a litany of doubt coursing through his mind.

After nearly three hundred years of keeping aloof, why did he decided to get attached to another human?

It was the possibility of space-travel that had intrigued him first. Shiro had played pilot in every major flight development throughout human history. His fascination with flight had started when he was still human, sending up kites of all shapes and sizes to soar amongst the endless blue of the sky.

He had read everything published about Da Vinci by the age of 25 and his thirst for knowledge had merely been wetted. Born somewhere between the 18th and 19th century, he could no longer recall the exact date (not that he bothered to try), but he remembered the first time he saw a hydrogen balloon and how it set his mind ablaze with wonder.

He had met Sir George Cayley; called the man a fool for some of his more unique ideas and later regretted every word. He ended up spending the rest of the man's life in his shadow, working out equations and furthering the physics of the matter. He had tried gliders and balloons and dirigibles and zeppelins and had thought himself a modern Icarus each time he managed a longer, faster flight. At least he didn't have to worry about the sun since he'd long since forsaken daylight.

He had been alive when the Wright brothers made their first attempts; he crashed several contraptions himself. He had flown in three different wars for three different sides and refrained from admitting more. He had encouraged Amelia when she fiercely dreamt of doing the impossible and wished to every deity in the universe that he too could fly with the sun at his back.

And so, when people started launching into space, he could not resist.

He had not, however, planned for the stupid connection to the small human who tackled every challenge with the exuberance of a day-old pup. He had not planned the attachment, the training and the stupid promise of _I'll be your pilot_, because then that too-brilliant-for-his-own-good pup had gotten a place on the Kerberos mission of all things.

Speaking of, the door to his room was flung wide, revealing the panting young man, eyes alight with anger and unshed tears, sweat wetting his brow and blonde locks standing every which way. "You're not coming?" Matt demanded, still trying to catch his breath.

Shiro felt a pang of deep-seated sadness clench at his unmoving heart. "I-I I'm sorry, Matt, but the health check…" Shiro trailed off, hoping that Matt would fill in the blank whichever way he chose. Maybe it was his heart, or his sight, or his cholesterol? But, in fact, he hadn't even taken the health test and physical necessary to clear him for the Kerberos mission.

Although he could substitute another's blood for the tests and mesmerise the doctor to ignore his lack of heartbeat, being stuck in space with no blood was not an ideal situation for a vampire.

Shiro wasn't sure what he expected, but Matt scoffing and slamming the door closed behind him wasn't it. Shiro made sure not to breathe too deeply. He hadn't taken a deep breath around other humans in nearly a century. He knew the temptation would be too great and without having had his breakfast yet that day, Shiro wasn't taking any risks, even though he hoped to hell and everything he still valued, that he would never hurt this unplanned, unforeseen friend.

"Okay, don't try and mumbo-jumbo your way out of this. You didn't even fill in the paperwork for the physical! So, don't lie," Matt said, a matter of fact.

Shiro swore in his head, having forgotten how skilled with computers the entire Holt family was. Anything with numbers, digits, code and a metallic shell were firmly under Holt control. He should have known the little idiot would hack the system first, for answers, before coming to see him.

"I thought we were a team, Shiro! I don't want some stranger flying the ship – I don't trust anyone else." Matt was so angry, he nearly vibrated with it and twin spots of red flared across his cheeks. The sound of his elevated pulse, his heart thudding, blood rushing through veins, distracted Shiro more than he cared to admit.

He wanted to… he wanted to know if the human's blood-scent matched his personality – sweet and zesty and….

Shiro tore his thoughts away, disgust and self-loathing roiling through him, making him want to sink a stake into his chest right there. How could he ever even think of _that_? Matt was worth a thousand of Shiro, and he would rather die than taste his blood.

"-ro? Shiro?" Matt's voice insisted and a hand on Shiro's shoulder jolted him out of his reverie.

Shit. When had the boy gotten so close?

Shiro shook Matt off and moved back, his legs bumping against his bed. "I'm sorry, but I just, I just can't." Shiro hoped Matt would understand. And if not, feel betrayed and then move on, away from the danger he posed.

Matt sighed and took a seat, right there on Shiro's floor. He folded his long limbs beneath him, making himself small and non-threatening.

Shiro looked on, completely floored. What was this kind of behaviour?

Bewildered, Shiro followed suit and sank down, sitting cross-legged with his back resting against his bed.

Matt caught his eyes and held his gaze. If Matt had been a vampire, Shiro would have attacked by now, but because he wasn't, the action confused Shiro even more. Humans couldn't look Shiro in the eyes for long before becoming woozy, the magic that made him the ultimate predator taking effect.

"Okay, Shiro," Matt started after what felt like a small eternity had passed. An inquisitive brow arched up. "Is this about the whole vampire thing?"

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*I know nothing about aviation. Feel free to correct me and I'll change it and be forever in your debt.


	2. Chapter 2: Shiro & Matt Pt2

**Disclaimer: I don't own VLD. Also, I've only watched up till S6, and I can't find the rest, so this is very much AU.***

**Thank you, _Shiranai Atsune, _for your review. This chapter got done so fast because of you, so here. You find out what Matt and Pidge are. :) And I'm very unoriginal, I guess. I'll try to take my spin on the characters, but Mermaid!Lance is a given.**

**Question: What do we know, canon-wise about Keith dropping out? When exactly and how did Keith and Lance first meet?**

**Oh, well, I'm just gonna claim creative interpretation, and write what I think. Unless someone can tell me before the next chapter. If Matt seems a bit OOC, I'm factoring in Shiro's influence (we all act differently around different people) and pre-Galra capture. Thanks for reading! Please review if you'd like.**

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Surprise? Shock?

Those words were too mild and commonly used for them to accurately encompass the overwhelming emotion blanking his brain. A soft whine drowned out sound and his vision went white for a few seconds.

Matt watched Shiro freeze, becoming more of a statue than the vampire normally appeared, and frowned. "Wait… you didn't… what?" Matt looked confused too and Shiro felt like the world was on fire.

Shiro's entire life revolved around secrecy. Having someone blurt out the truth so willy-nilly, so abruptly, as if talking about the weather or something equally as mundane, was jarring and panic-inducing and liberating.

Alongside the fear, Shiro also felt a wave of relief. He hadn't realised how lonely the secret had become and just the acknowledgement of what he was, made Shiro feel more alive than he had felt in such a long time.

"Okay, Shiro, buddy, I'm gonna have to ask you to say something. So, you didn't know I knew?"

Shiro tried to find his voice but could only shake his head in disbelief. How was he supposed to know?

So, taking a risk and against his better judgement, he released the self-imposed dampeners on his senses and inhaled. Air rushed in through his nose and unlike the normal array of scents milling through the air, there is a single smell that dominates the room and immediately threatens to overwhelm with its intensity. Blood. But that told him nothing other than that Matt was alive, which was good but not quite as informative as he had hoped.

So Shiro focused, and focused, and there! Just a hint of magic. _Fae_. Fae blood, that spoke of gold and light and green and earth and warmth and sun and life. How hadn't he seen it - sensed it?

"You're fae?" Shiro's voice came out sounding shrill. Because, damn. If any vamp other than him found out, Matt would be as good as dead. Or two steps away from becoming an unwilling blood-slave. Already his mind was racing... he'd have to entire vampire society again, he'll have to claim the entire city as his territory... oh, this was bad.

Matt laughed lightly. "I mean, I know my glamour is good, but I thought that's why you wanted to be on my team?" Matt sounded unsure as well.

An awkward atmosphere threatened to settle, but Matt brushed it away with words. "With both me and my dad on the mission, we would even be able to take turns, so it's perfect, isn't it? But you really look a little pale – paler than usual – so, I'm assuming you didn't know?"

Again, Shiro could only shake his head, marvelling at the strangeness of the situation. Fae were rare. Rarer even than vampires who could be made and not born. Rare because the Earth no longer sustained fae magic and the Wild places were no more. The Courts had long since disbanded, with each fae type left to fend for themselves. Some hid in the nooks and crannies of human societies, some sought out reserves, and the more daring tried to assimilate and live amongst the humans. It was no surprise that his friend was amongst the latter. Matt loved knowledge for the sake of it.

Shiro paid out of his ears every two months or so for the fae-blood from a half-blood who lived somewhere in the Amazon, protected by a coven of witch-warriors. It was expensive and risky. The blood was shipped to him in a vial the size of his thumb, but it was so worth the few hours he could then spend in the sun.

Therefore, the fact that Matt, clearly full fae was just sitting there, trusting Shiro, was almost too impossible to believe.

"Uhm, uh, okay then." Matt started fidgeting when Shiro only continued to stare. "Well, now that you know, could you please take the physical and sort out the checks? I want- no, I _need_ to go on this trip but _not_ if you're not the pilot." He insisted, slamming a decisive fist into his other palm, punctuating the statement even further.

"Why?" Shiro croaked, feeling even more parched than usual and not because of the lack of fresh blood in his system.

Matt rolled his eyes. "Because us supes gotta stick together! And I trust you. And we're friends, right?"

Matt grinned and with a shimmer and a blink, his already sharp features became even more delicate and fine, his skin nearly glowed and his hair was spun gold. Ears elongated and sharpened to tips, and his eyes burned bright with an inner light. Matt still looked like Matt, but a nearly impossibly perfect version of him. An elf. And a high-elf, no less.

"We good?" Matt's grin was still there but it seemed hesitant somehow.

Perhaps he thought Shiro would attack? No, it was a different kind of fear – rejection.

Shiro tried to relax his coiled muscles and softened his face. "Okay, fine. I'll be your pilot." And he offered his own smile in return. He'd ask Adam to look out for Matt's mother and sister while he was gone.

_Adam. _Shiro winced. Adam, who had vehemently protested against the mission in the first place, was going to hate him for this. But, this had been Shiro's dream since, well, since forever. And the pure elation on Matt's face almost, just almost, made it worth breaking his love's heart.*

Faster than the human eye would be able to track, Matt jumped up in a blur of light, punching the air. A loud whoop echoed through Shiro's chambers. "Yes!"

Shiro couldn't help but think that Matt appeared very young, even for an elf, and although tempted to ask about his age, he didn't. He had manners after all.

"So, you get that sorted, and I'll go tell Dad."

Shiro stood as well when Matt headed towards the door, his glamour already shimmering back into place. It was like losing the sun.

Even though Shiro enjoyed Matt's company and had a hundred and one questions, he was glad that the young man was taking his leave. He needed time to process and reassess his situation. He needed time to view the world with this new lens of hope.

He also needed to eat, but what a trivial concern it appeared in light of the revelation that he could actually be going into space. Shiro felt absolutely giddy at the prospect.

Matt seemed equally as elated, all but bouncing through the door, babbling all the way. "I'm so excited, you wouldn't believe, my sister is going to be so jealous, oh gosh, the first fae in space! Oh, and vampire, oh!" Matt paused, freezing just before closing the door behind him. He unhooks the satchel from around his neck. It was a small brown bag, sturdy, and its contents clinked lightly as Matt handed the bag over.

Dumbly, Shiro accepted the bag with a frown. "What's this?" he asked, perplexed.

"Well, I thought I might have to bribe you, or like prove something to you, because, well, I thought you like, _knew,_ so I didn't know why you'd say no. But, so, I got you samples." Matt's fingers twitched and his pulse stuttered. Why was he suddenly so nervous?

"Bribe?" Shiro prompted, trying to figure out what could be in the bag without opening it. It wouldn't be money. Samples? He looked up at Matt, who was blushing furiously.

"Yeah, I don't know how the whole blood thing works, so… I thought, you know, testers? If I were to be stuck with only one… uhh, source of nutrition?" He sounded like he had inhaled a tank of helium. "Then I'd want to know what I was getting. You know?"

Shiro gaped. It was one of the oddest and most touching things... He chuckled, wondering how on earth his life had stumbled into this moment. "Thanks, Matt. If I had to, I'd live off cardboard pellets just to see space. It's been an impossible dream until now, so… thanks." He made to give the bag back.

He didn't want Matt to feel like… food. They were friends, they were teammates, and very soon, their lives would be in each other's hands, so Shiro didn't want to make it awkward. Well, more awkward.

Matt's eyes softened slightly as if reading the vampire's mind. And maybe he was – some fae had strange abilities. "Keep it, dude. Dad and I are happy to help. Being different isn't always easy."

And the tension in the words made Shiro wonder what exactly the fae had suffered through to get to where they were, and his gaze flickered to Matt's hands, always covered with gloves or bandages. Yes, indeed, they were both suffering to realise their dreams.

"Thank you," Shiro said and hoped that Matt could hear how deep and truly profound his thanks were, and not just for the blood or for realising his dream, but for being a genuine friend.

Matt shrugged and then winked, an impish smile popping across his lips. "My sister wanted to add hers too. You know, in case it was a gender thing." With that, he breezed away, leaving a shocked, completely mortified-looking Shiro behind.

"Too easy!" Matt shouted over his shoulder and he resisted the urge to look back one more time.

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*As I've said, I haven't watched S7/S8, but I've read stuff on wiki. And well, it worked with the story, since Shiro won't have muscular dystrophy but Adam has other reasons to object to a vampire in space.


	3. Chapter 3: Keith I

**Hey! So excuse Lance in this chapter. He is exceptionally agro and very immature, but he has a good reason, I'm sure.** Don't know what that reason is quite yet - he's clinging to his secrets (like a barnacle to a ship, like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood, like Jack to a broken door). Heh. Yeah, I've been having fun with the puns and extended metaphors. Lance's chapter is going 'swimmingly'! Too much?

**Anyway, if you read and enjoy, just leave one word about how you feel, or, what do you want from me? I'm having a blast, but... it's so lonely writing for myself...**

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Keith nudged the controller, banked sharply, just enough, left, right, up, left, left. Down!

He was unstoppable. He was unrelenting. He was the ship he controls, flying through space, endless stars on either side. Another tight manoeuvre, which he executed with minimal moves and maximum results.

It was why he was potentially the greatest fighter pilot the Garrison had seen to date, even though he was technically still in training. If one was inclined to listen to whispers, Keith was even better than Shiro, because whereas Shiro had the sharpest reflexes, Keith's every movement was one of economic efficiency. Undoubtedly, Keith was born to fly.

The simulation ended and Keith allowed himself a grin at the groaning technicians and programmers, who would have to try yet again to beat him. He'd trumped the high score. Again. And so what if the previous high score had been by him as well? Every time he climbed behind the controls; he knew with certainty that he would succeed. He was making Shiro proud.

Keith's heart pinged. He missed his… whatever. Mentor? Teacher? Foster dad? Technically, yes, but Shiro felt more like an older brother than a true authority figure. There had been mutual respect, and Keith missed it.

Either way, he missed him and wished that time would go a bit faster. It had been a little over two months and the trio of Garrison officers had reached Kerberos successfully. And yes, the endless possibilities and new ventures this achievement meant, were great and all, but Keith just wanted Shiro to come back. He'd finally been able to make actual fire! Maybe now they could figure out Keith's true heritage.

"Wow!"

"Good job, man!"

The chorus of congratulations and exclamations fell on deaf ears. He didn't want their approval. The only approval he wanted would have to wait another two or three months for when the Kerberos Mission returned

He was walking past another simulation, a much more relaxed version of his own programme when the pod opened and an irate boy with lanky limbs and wild hair tumbled out.

"Ugh!"

Through the now open door, Keith could see the supposed explosion from a failed simulation and couldn't help but frown at the other cadet. As far as he could tell, the simulation had been on mid-range settings. So, his failure wasn't that humiliating. But he seemed extremely disappointed.

"Cargo pilot?" The boy yelled out when he saw his results, published instantly on the records.

It was test day, after all, and the pilot cadets were trying out for their different designations. Keith, of course, as the top of the class, would be spending the rest of his training in the fighter pilot stream. He would be able to go as fast as he wanted, with a much smaller team than the cargo pilot designation, who had half a dozen officers per ship. It itched to know that he would have to have a team at all since Keith much preferred his solitude and solo missions. But the solo streams were mainly stealth pilots and their missions rarely called for the explosive speed of fighter class.*

Maybe he had been staring a bit too hard at the boy throwing his tantrum, which was really not befitting of a Garrison cadet, and maybe Keith's mouth had pursed slightly in judgement.

"What are you looking at?" The boy turned his way, and demand. "Think you're better than me, Mr-fighter-pilot-Keith, sir? Huh?"

Wait, how did the boy know his name? And why was he getting so close?

The boy (and Keith really needed to find a name for him) moved fast, stomping towards him, and pressed a finger into Keith's personal space. Keith eyed the wagging digit just in front of his nose with slight distaste.

"I'm just as good as you, you know!" the boy ranted, loudly, and Keith just leaned back a bit, so that he didn't get spat on. What was this guy's problem?

Keith didn't really socialise much with the other recruits, but despite his antisocial tendencies he was never overly antagonistic, he thought. He tried to mind his own business and tried to control his anger when people inevitably annoyed him. After everything Shiro had done for him, Keith was going to damn well make sure to be on his best behaviour and make him proud for when he comes back.

"Oh, so you're too good to even talk to me, is that it?"

Keith bit at the inside of his cheek, trying to swallow down the smoke that brewed in his stomach. Shiro would want him to stay calm, to not stoop to this guy's level and-

"You! You and me! Pilot fly off, right now!" The guy demanded, gesturing at the dual simulators.

Keith frowned, extremely annoyed, moderately confused, and not in the mood.

"No." He kept it simple, hoping to not aggravate the boy further.

The boy's eyes widened. They were such a pure, deep blue, darkened even further by the simmering anger at their depths.

Keith thought that maybe he was just being used as a scapegoat. Clearly, the guy was disappointed in his results, but was it really necessary to take that out on him? A veritable stranger?

The anger in those blue-blue eyes was replaced by shock at Keith's response. And for a second, Keith nearly sighed in relief, thinking the odd confrontation over. But then, to his mounting horror, a sly grin spread over the other guy's face, eyes lighting up with mirth, the blue lightening almost instantly.

"Scared, eh?" The boy goaded, nearly crowed. And that smug look, that self-satisfied I-got-you-now look… made Keith snapped.

So, with just a bit of heat warming his knuckles, Keith unceremoniously stepped back a bit for space to move and punched the guy. It happened. It happened and Keith blinked at the crumpled form on the floor. He regretted it immediately, but it was too late.

The boy rubbed his already bruising jaw, a redder than strictly normal shadow blooming across his left cheek where Keith's fist had become acquainted with his face.

"No. You're just not worth the effort," he said and walked away. He could hear the guy's spluttering protests behind him, but he continued forward.

As soon as he was out of sight, he started running. A few officers shouted after him for breaking the rules – no running in the Garrison – but he brushed past. He was going to explode. Literally. Keith didn't want to be anywhere near anyone who might get hurt.

He ran past the cafeteria and all of the anger winked out in an instant – a flame snuffed out by the wind. Keith felt the ember of hope he'd been kindling die. It just disappeared as if it had never even existed. Because of Shiro…

On the massive news boards lining the cafeteria, splashed across every screen in the corridor, flashing onto every device around him…

_KERBEROS MISSION DISAPPEARS PILOT ERROR _

Next to him, a tiny girl crumpled, clutching and curling into herself. A distant part of him wanted to reach out, to help somehow, but everything inside of him was dead and cold. He envied the tears that dripped down to her chin because his heart felt too full. But his eyes were drier than the desert he still called home.

_PILOT ERROR?_

As if.

The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Shiro wasn't perfect but he wouldn't make a mistake and he wouldn't risk his passengers and… The whole thing reeked of a cover-up. That thought sparked something within him. The trust he'd started to place in the Garrison was replaced with suspicion, multiplied tenfold. He'd demand answers. He'd demand explanations. He marched off to find them.

Unsurprisingly, nobody talked. They all but called him an idiot and they did call him a child. He clenched his hands behind his back, smelling the acrid scent of burning fabric. And when the smoke alarm inevitably goes off and the sprinklers kick in, dousing everything in a stifling white powder, Keith thought it was a good thing because he had been a second from wrapping his hands around Iverson's throat.

"I quit," he bit out and left without fanfare. He wouldn't be coming back as a cadet. As he all but stalked outside, he passed again the girl from before, who had tear streaks visible on her cheeks and steps that burned with determination. The fire in her eyes mirrored his own. He regretted not talking to her.

At first, Adam tried to convince him to go back. The Garrison had sent several messages, openly expressing their willingness, offering money and singing Keith's praises. But the deeper he dug into what happened on Kerberos, the more he believed that his decision had been right. It was both what he found, and what he didn't that set his mind ablaze with mysteries and cemented his suspicions.

Shiro's disappearance was part of a much larger conspiracy. He didn't want to believe it, almost couldn't, but it seemed as if the UN had been covering up the existence of aliens for decades now. Unbelievable - those 'crazy' conspiracy theorists had had a point all along!

Keith moved out into the desert, where his father had kept a cabin, conveniently close to both the Garrison base and the secret camp that was supposedly just a warehouse. The heat didn't bother him, and he was seventeen, a legal adult, and could live on his own. Technically, the cabin was supposed to be a waystation, but nobody ever came out this far into the ever-expanding arid wasteland that, once upon a time, had been merely a dry climate still flourishing with well-adapted creatures. Now, though, it was just dead.

Adam had called a few times, even visited once, but Keith had always just been Shiro's pet project and the vampire, older than Keith knew, quickly lost interest. It didn't help that Adam felt personally betrayed by Shiro's choice to explore space, and spurned love burned much like hate.

Yes, the first few months were torture, and yes, he did feel so very alone, and yes, he knew next to nothing about reconnaissance or spying or hacking, but he learned. Quickly. With proper motivation, Keith had always been an impossibly fast learner and now he was living for the mystery.

He hadn't been able to find an explanation for his father's death – a fireproof firefighter dying in a fire? Yeah, right – and he hadn't been able to find out where exactly his abilities came from, but he sure as hell was going to find the answers to this.

Keith had stubborn determination and had stubborn hope. He also had resources. Not money but contacts and favours from his father's friends, who still remembered, and Shiro's friends, who still believed.

_KERBEROS MISSION DISAPPEARS._ It was the one thing he clung to. The wording. Nobody had said Shiro was dead. He had _disappeared_ and Keith was damn good at finding what was his.

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*AU, remember? I don't know how the Garrison actually worked, so... It's the future, so I'm thinking the cadets get judged by ability and not age, so in the year that Shiro is gone, the trio (Pidge, Hunk and Lance) train in their special streams, and Keith becomes a detective and a spy.

Any guesses as to Keith's heritage? Am I cliche or creative? Who knows?


	4. Chapter 4: Hunk I

**A bit of introspection to start the day. Hunk is my absolute favourite to write, even though Lance is my favourite character. Hunk just reminds me of me, so I find it easy to get in his head. **

**As always, read and enjoy, and if you feel so inclined, leave encouragement or tell me what I can improve, or honestly just rant at me about Voltron because we all are probably suffering from VLD withdrawal. Man, I loved the first 2 seasons, when things were so perfectly uncomplicated and right.**

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When Hunk arrived at the Garrison, he was excited. This was something new and different. He was going to meet new people, like-minded people, make his family proud and live up to his mom's endless insistence that he was going to do '_great_ _things'_.

It took about three days for the excitement to turn into doubt. He liked working with his hands, and he liked using his brain and learning new things, and yes, he was doing well enough in the couple of tests his class had already had, but the people were… not his.

He missed his family. He missed his home. He missed his pack. He could feel the bonds stretching, straining, and fraying. Soon, if he didn't go back and renewed his familial ties, they would break apart and disintegrate. He knew that it would have to happen one day if he ever decided to leave home or when he decided to start his own pack, but he didn't know if he wanted independence just yet.

It didn't help that he didn't understand half the kids at the Garrison, or that most of them were selfish pricks, either with rich enough parents to get into the programme or scholarship kids, like himself, but with egos to match. He was seriously considering dropping out, going home and maybe opening a food truck with his uncle, when the unit training teams were announced.

His team – if you could call their little mismatched group of kooky outcasts that - was different.

Pidge, a small girl who claimed to be a guy, smelled of sunshine and green. 'claimed' here only in the way that the records all stated that she was a boy, but that she clearly smelled female. The Garrison needed accurate gender information for medical histories and in case of emergencies, so Hunk was notably confused. Girls could join the Garrison, after all, and it wasn't 2020 anymore.

She was aloof, a know-it-all and a bit abrupt, but she also smelled sad and just as lonely as he felt. She was so smart, too smart, and he thought that she might find people difficult, preferring the zeroes and ones of computers.

But after he had given her advice on one of the encryption tests, she started offering him half of her dinner every day. She likely didn't understand the meaning this held for him but every time she delicately plopped half her portion onto his plate, he got a little bit teary.

His decision that she would be his new pack wasn't conscious. It just happened, and when Hunk finally realised that he went kind of panicky when he couldn't see her tiny head, his wolf had already adopted her completely. She might hide behind machines, but he hoped that with time, she'd start hiding behind him. He needed her as m

Lance, the supposed pilot, strategist, leader, of their unit, adopted him first, though. The boy, with a wildness that intimidated him and a steadiness that reassured him, smelled of the ocean and reminded him of home. Lance didn't demand friendship or loyalty but gave it away first. Completely.

On their first day, before they were even a unit, Lance had punched a guy who had commented on Hunk's stature. It was a pathetic excuse for a punch, probably hurting Lance's fist more than it did the guy, but the bond slid into place. That's how Hunk knew exactly when Lance started panicking, felt the metallic bite of fear on his tongue, two days after the three of them had become a team.

They were in the middle of their fire drill. The test, meant to expose the cadets to a variety of stressful situations, was merely a simulation like most of the tests but when Hunk felt the sudden spike in adrenaline and nausea climbing up his throat, he knew that Lance wasn't registering the fact that the flames held no heat. It ended up being their team's only successful stress drill since Hunk merely ran to Lance, threw him over a shoulder, before doing the same with Pidge, and carried them out to safety.

Pidge, of course, had been miffed since she had been halfway through hacking the jammed sprinkler system to put out the blaze, but quickly swallowed her protests when she saw the state Lance was in. His breathing had been shallow, his eyes closed, and he looked like he had seen a ghost.

"You don't like fire, do you?" she had whispered softly, staring down at her own hands and fingers, always covered in an assortment of colourful band-aids.

Lance had barked a dark laugh. "You could say that." And Hunk didn't think he had ever heard someone sound more broken.

Hunk had slid down the wall, taking a seat next to his… teammate, and watched as the next team entered the simulation. "I hate heights. And crowds. And loud sounds." He had admitted softly, cringing at his own weakness. How was he meant to protect them, the tiny girl with a sad soul and the light boy with a lonely heart, when he was so weak?

"Well, uhm, I'm actually, like, kind of allergic to most metals?" Pidge had offered, holding up her covered hands, wiggling fingers that were so tiny and perpetually blistered. Hunk's eyes had widened; a look mirrored by Lance.

Quiet descended and then Lance started giggling like a little girl. Hunk felt mildly disturbed and insulted before realising that Lance was merely a bit hysterical and didn't mean any offence. It was only when Pidge started laughing too, more at Lance than at their situation when Hunk allowed the chuckle in his chest to escape.

"Huh, what a sorry team we make!" Lance had crowed, tears of laughter streaming down his face. "I don't know how to keep metal away from you, Pidge since you seem to seek it out, but I'll keep the crowds away, Hunk."

The offer was light-hearted, made in jest, but it had warmed Hunk's heart. Because that's what being a pack was about. Trust and mutual protection. They all had a job; they were a team.

Yes, they made a sorry team, but a team, nonetheless. And yes, Lance was silly and flighty and more go-with-the-flow than a leader probably should be, but he also cared more than almost anyone else. Hunk was steady and strong, and Lance adapted and improvised. Pidge planned and was always ten steps ahead, but she needed them to ground her in the here and now – in the present reality.

They weren't a perfect team, not yet, but they needed each other more than they knew. They bickered and they fought and together, they grew.


	5. Chapter 5: Pidge & Boys Pt1

**Oh, it was so fun climbing into Pidge's head for a second. I wanted to try something different - tell me how that went. I also decided to keep her as a girl since I appreciate the Mulan-ness of her endeavour. **

**This one is split into two parts. If anyone is still with me on this, I scream into the void and await an answer.**

* * *

Pidge thought that empathy was a curse, not a gift.

Not empathy as in the ability to be able to imagine what someone else might be feeling, but empathy as in the gutwrenching, heart-numbing emotions she was constantly bombarded with day in and day out.

She couldn't turn it off. She could focus it somewhat but it took so much concentration and focus, which were two things she'd rather spend on trying to figure out whatever puzzle had recently taken her fancy. Her curse – not a gift – also made it hard to know when an emotion was her own or when it belonged to someone else.

She had been homeschooled when she was younger but her parents had quickly realised that if Pidge, then still Katie, didn't learn how to live with humans from the get-go, she would likely turn into one of the Wild Ones. And with there no longer being any true Wild places to run to, Pidge would become a hermit or a self-imposed outcast from society.

It wasn't the kind of life they wished for their little girl – one of the few fae children born every millennia or so. He parents had been lucky, managing to sing two children awake in less than a decade. It was a feat of the Ages. But Pidge sometimes wondered, if the miracle that made her, hadn't also left her slightly broken.

The only one who'd understood her, truly, had been her brother, and then Matt was gone. And her father too. And her mum had felt such sorrow, such anguish, that Pidge could barely breathe when they were together in the same house, let alone the same room.

So, even though her search for her brother and father had led her to hack herself into the Garrison, to re-enrolling under a different name and to reinventing herself as Pidge, being bombarded by a dozen emotions at a time, was far better than drowning in her mother's heartbreak from losing her Heartmate. And although being surrounded by a bunch of teenagers with fluctuating hormones, crippling insecurities and anxieties, combined with the rigorous Garrison training, wasn't the easiest, she coped and survived and flourished. She was close to finding answers. She could feel it.

That bull about pilot-error had been a massive lie, and now she knew the truth. About the _aliens_. It didn't help get her family back but at least she could use the Garrison's equipment, as well as the much superior tech she had built herself, to monitor the skies. Because something was coming – she could almost, almost feel it.

The real reason why she was able to work so well in the Garrison setting, was currently sat next to her, the mechanic of their little trio unit fiddling with his own project. She, the communication's officer and Hunk, the mechanic and engineer, were working on personal projects whilst in the simulator down the hall, Lance, their pilot, was practising his flying skills. And if the past set any kind of precedent, he was also crashing.

Pidge felt a bit annoyed, or at least, she thought it was her emotion this time when she thought about their bombastic pilot who reliably failed at their tests and tasks. He was an idiot, always joking around and being ridiculous, only seeming to care about action and fighting and girls. She still didn't understand how he had gotten in on a scholarship.

A huff came from her left, and she looked up from the lines of code on her screen. Hunk was steady. He was calm and unlike most, his emotions were quite… simple, uncomplicated. He liked what he liked because he liked it. He didn't get jealous or greedy or angry very often. He didn't hold grudges or chase his own glory. She also liked his emotions because they were so easy to hold onto. She could focus on him and not get overwhelmed by the frustrations of twenty other students, and she could work on her project, as well, without feeling completely split in two.

So, she was surprised and troubled to feel his frustration as well. But it didn't seem aimed at the engine in front of him.

Wanting to understand him better and perhaps help him in return for the kindness he unknowingly bestowed upon her, she focused harder on his feelings, her code momentarily forgotten.

He was… frustrated… no, restless… no, he was lonely?

Pidge frowned, feeling somehow affronted, or at least this time she was about 80% sure it was her emotion, because why was he lonely when she was right there? She didn't have any stupid jokes or know how to babble like Lance, who seemed to fill silence merely by being, but she was still there. Right?

She felt a bit panicky, but she didn't think this was her emotion, especially since two seats ahead smoke started twirling shapes into the air. She felt unsure and insecure, though, and these emotions were hers since they matched her thoughts. Pidge cleared her throat, trying to think of what she'd seen others do.

"Uhm, Hunk?" she tried, wishing that she had paid more attention when Matt insisted on watching those ridiculous sitcoms he had been obsessed with. "Are you…" she trailed off because the pang of longing and loneliness and wanting and needing and loneliness, spearing through her was overwhelming. She wanted to fix this! But how? Hunk was human and they couldn't be fixed as easily as a machine, or brushed back to life like a wilted bulb, or debugged like programmes.

"Are you…" she tried again, and the frustration she felt was her own, but he seemed to understand.

He smiled like only Hunk could smile, with a steady kindness and genuine warmth. Lance smiled too. Way more than Hunk, in fact, but they were somehow cheap and meaningless more often than not. Lance's smiles were too often sharp and full of bite, or brittle and crumbling in spite of himself. There were the genuine ones, of course, bright as the sun and full of the force of a thousand suns. But they were oh, so rare, and completely disarming.

"I'm alright, Pidge," Hunk reassured, the steadiness of his being returning, his mind becoming a soft pillow dampening the outside, a haven, once more. "Don't worry; I'll be alright." But even as the loneliness she had felt emanating from him lessened, she could feel it throb and burn. If she couldn't find a way to fix this, to ease that away, she would never forgive herself.

That's why she found herself seeking out Lance after class.

It was also after dinner, and she had given her entire chicken fillet to Hunk because maybe she could fix him with food? He'd been grateful, yes, but the loneliness still ran through him, a deep yawning chasm that mocked her with its continued existence. Pidge didn't fail. Not ever.

Lance was surprised to see her, starting visibly and flailing like a newborn foal, pinwheeling to keep upright, when she appeared by his elbow.

"Hunk is sad," she told him, cutting straight to the bone of the matter.

Lance's brain seemed to blink in confusion as if he was rebooting. "Hunk? Hunk is-? Wait, what? Why are you telling me?" Lance demanded.

"You're his best friend and he is sad and lonely," she stated, matter of factly. "Isn't it your responsibility?"


	6. Chapter 6: Pidge & Boys Pt2

**Okay, this chapter delves deep into the Supernatural AU. Also, I apologise if Lance is OOC since I lack the humour gene and am horrible at dialogue, and ugh, why is my favourite so hard to get right?**

**Anyway, enjoy. Let me know if there are any pre-Shiro landing scenes or friendship bonding you want to see before then because he'll be crashing soon.**

* * *

Lance frowned down at Pidge, wondering if the smaller student was playing some kind of prank or had just lost all of his marbles entirely. "And?" he prodded, completely confused.

Pidge didn't really talk much, besides blurting facts and data. Lance thought that he was alright, but that Pidge could stand to put in a bit more effort with the team, or could just be less weird. Which definitely took their current situation off the table.

"What am I supposed to do about that?" Lance asked, slightly insulted that Pidge seemed to be suggesting that he, Lance couldn't take care of Hunk. He was also now worried about said friend and wondering how the obtuse and apathetic Pidge, of all people, had come to tell him that his best friend was lonely.

In answer to his question, Pidge's eyes seemed to flash. How and with what exactly, Lance couldn't be sure, but he swore that they did, indeed flash. Or shimmer at the very least.

"Fix it," was the instruction before Pidge pressed back his glasses, turned on his heel and marched away, leaving Lance to gape at his back.

_How_? Lance wanted to ask but Pidge was already out of earshot. For someone with very short legs, the guy could motor when he wanted.

Lance was still mulling this over when he got to study hall with the other pilots. It was an hour before they would be dismissed to their rooms, and Lance spent it all trying to figure out what exactly Pidge had meant and actually, actively brainstorming about ways to cheer Hunk up. They were neighbours in the dorms and teammates and friends, but it had only been a month. Lance knew that Hunk loved food, had a large extended family and laughed at all of Lance's jokes. He frowned, chewing at the end of his stylus. He realised that he didn't know a whole lot about his friend - his supposed best friend. Possibly his only friend.

Lance shook his head, not willing to entertain that realisation for too long. He was just going to have to get creative. He'll wait for it to get dark and then have an impromptu sleepover! Yes! He nearly pumped his first into the air. Oh, wow, did he feel like a genius! It was brilliant and people always felt closer in the dark, sharing stories and secrets and stuff, right? Well, that's how it was in the movies at least.

His thoughts started to grow a bit dimmer as he tried to actually tease out the 'how's' of his plan. All he had to do was find some way to bypass the security measures on his door… A grin spread across his face. Well, Pidge had shown him that thing with the doors…. It seemed that the demanding communications cadet was going to be helping after all.

When he passed the smaller boy, with the mop of golden hair, in the halls on their way to their respective dorms, he flashed him a grin and two thumbs up. _I've got it!_ He mouthed and Pidge's mouth frowned as he chewed at his lower lip, looking as if he might be regretting ever asking Lance to fix Hunk.

_Too bad,_ Lance huffed to himself as he waited for the last patrol to pass by, watching the luminescent green numbers blare the time at him. Too bad for Pidge, but he was getting Hunk back to his old self even if it killed him. Or got him kicked out of the Garrison.

Using the small padlet Pidge had leant him, Lance ran the programme he'd been given as well. After a blink, the green light beside his door winked and with a hiss, the lock released. _Success_, Lance thought. The air wasn't wet enough for true camouflage but he focused on being as invisible as possible.

The corridor outside was quiet and deserted, but he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. He quickly tiptoed the two steps to Hunk's door, ran the programme again and then knocked when the door unlocked. It opened immediately as if Hunk had been waiting right in front of the door, almost as if he had known Lance was coming.

Hunk frowned at Lance. "What are you doing here?" he hissed quietly, confused more than upset.

"Sleepover!" Lance enthused, the excitement in his voice not even remotely softened by the low volume of his shout. He made sure to squint and stare at the floor, hoping that it was dark enough for Hunk not to see how black his eyes were.

After a long heartbeat, Hunk stepped aside in silent invitation. Like the big man himself, the room was full of warmth, tidy, and smelled of sugar, cinnamon and machine oil.

"Nice," Lance said as if admiring the standard-issue furnishings. An awkward pause stretched out and Lance actually felt a flicker of doubt, that maybe his idea hadn't been such a good one after all.

"We-"

"You-"

They started at the same time.

Lance laughed weakly. "Nah, you go. It's your room."

Hunk didn't protest, which was surprising to Lance because the guy was usually so considerate and accommodating, putting everyone else before himself - always. Lance felt a twinge of guilt over that fact, ashamed that he had gotten so used to how selfless Hunk was, that he'd started taking it for granted. He was glad Pidge had said something to him. Hunk deserved so much more than Lance and his flighty friendship.

"So, I don't know… how you unlocked the doors, or why, to be honest. I mean, thanks, I guess. It's a nice thought? But it's late and I'm tired…"

And Lance thought that, yes, Hunk did look tired. And also… sad.

Pidge had been right. For someone so aloof, he could read Hunk better than Lance it seemed.

That decided it.

Hunk _was_ his best friend. He was going to fix this. He was going to give Hunk the attention and love and appreciation he deserved. And so what if it meant a night on the floor without his cucumber face mask? He had gotten soft in any case. Not like you saw pillows on the rocky seafloor, right?

So Lance turned away from Hunk who still stood by the door, and faced the bed. With a flourish and a snap of his wrist, Lance flung out the bedroll he'd been clutching under one arm. It landed neatly next to the bed.

Because he tended to get warm easily, Lance merely plopped himself on top, propping his head on his hand. "Well, then, get to bed, if you're tired. I promise I won't keep you up."

Hunk seemed torn, his face full of indecision, as his gaze moved from Lance on his floor, to his bed, and back to Lance. As if an internal battle had been decided, Hunk gave a sudden nod and moved forward, gingerly stepping over Lance and onto his bed. The small bed squeaked a bit in protest, which was so odd since one would think that in 2049 they'd have sorted out squeaky springs by now.

_Victory_! Lance crowed mentally and settled back onto his back, his arms folded beneath his head for now. He would end up spread wide, like a starfish, as soon as he fell asleep.

"Night, buddy," he said, feeling content.

Hunk grunted in reply.

The air seemed heavy, buzzing with unsaid words and insecurity.

Hunk wasn't quite sure why Lance had decided to come and make himself home on the floor of his room. But he also couldn't say that he wasn't feeling the most relaxed and at home, he'd felt since arriving at the Garrison. Just the steady thump of a pulse nearby, and the calming breath of another, was already helping, making him think that maybe tonight he might actually fall asleep whilst it was still dark outside.

Lance had expected a bit _more,_ having built up their 'sleepover' quite a bit in his head. He'd planned personal questions leading to meaningful reveals, he'd thought of deep topics that would lead to intense discussions about life and death and morality.

But now, in the dark, his mind was as blank as the ceiling. He sighed, feeling a bit restless. He was adaptable, that's for sure, but being surrounded by a room not his own and smells that weren't his, was a bit disconcerting.

He froze slightly, in mind and spirit, when something suddenly brushed at his head. Lance titled his head back, just so, and found one of Hunk's massive hands, hanging over the side of the bed. The barest of fingertips rested on Lance's forehead. He stared at it, unsure.

Of course, he'd noticed that Hunk was very physical and had this been any one of the other guys in their year group, even Pidge, Lance would have moved away. But Hunk was different, and the touch was not intimate at all, or friendly even. It was familial, almost, and reminded him slightly of home, lying intertwined with all six of his siblings, falling asleep to the reassuring breaths at his back.

"You know," Lance whispered into the dark of the room, his voice hoarse. "In the summer, back home, it would always get so hot. Like man, you wouldn't believe how hot – even during the night, your blood boils, and everyone was always really cranky, because you're sweaty and tired but can't sleep, and it's horrible, you know?"

He didn't expect an answer but he could feel Hunk's focus as much as he could feel the fingertips brushing at his hair.

"And we only had one fan. Seven kids, one fan, so my mum, she would get, like every blanket and sheet and-," he laughed at the memory. "Everything. She would get all of them and spread them over the living room floor, and with the one fan, we'd all pile onto the sheets and we were still hot and sticky and miserable, and the fan, ugh, it did nothing! But."

He frowned slightly, not remembering where he had been going with this anecdote. An anecdote, mind you, that was both warming his heart and shredding it.

"Mama called it a Christmas bed. I don't know why… Maybe because it was about, like coming together, you know, like at Christmas? Or maybe it's an actual thing, I don't know. Yeah." Lance could feel the tears, sitting in his throat. A squat frog making it hard to breathe or swallow.

Sheesh, he was supposed to be cheering up Hunk, not make himself depressed. Lance turned his attention back to the actual reason for why he was on the floor.

Wait? Had Hunk stopped breathing?

Lance frowned. "Hey, you okay?" he asked. He sat up, peering over the side of his bed.

"How'd you know I was homesick?" Hunk mumbled into his pillow, lying on his stomach with arms curled up around his head.

Lance shrugged, relieved to figure out what had been bothering his friend. "I guess because I'm always homesick," he said, honestly.

And then, knowing that Hunk would never push or ask, but knowing, somehow feeling that Hunk needed this, Lance scooted away from the bed to make space on the floor. "You wanna join me on the comfy floor?" he asked, his voice light and judgement-free.

It didn't take a second before a heavy comforter plopped to the floor and Hunk slowly lowered his body after it.

Satisfied, Lance turned his gaze back to the ceiling and marvelled at how warm Hunk was since he could feel the heat radiate from the other guy. The sound of steady breaths lulled Lance into peace, his chest moving in sync with the pull and push of air in the room.

"Lance?" Hunk called softly and Lance could only hum in reply, already almost asleep.

"Thanks," was the last thing Lance heard before he drifted off. The breaths, the ins and outs, kind of reminded him of waves, of the ocean, the place that used to be home, and it carried him so easily to the land of sleep and dreams and possibilities.


	7. Chapter 7: Lance & Pidge

Lance hated the desert. It was too… sandy and dusty… and dry. Which was good and bad, and a relief and a constant pain in the ass. Because although he didn't run the risk of unexpected transformations, most of the time, he ran the risk of dying whenever they did stamina or endurance training outside.

Yeah, one might argue that he hadn't thought this through very well. Except, well, he had.

He had nobody. No money, no family, no hope. So, he took the easy way out, accepted the scholarship dangling in front of his nose like a carrot, and retreated even further into his little bubble of denial.

Water? Pah, who needed water?

Life at the Garrison revolved around routine. It was nice to know where everything was supposed to be, what and when everything was supposed to happen. It made it so much easier to swim against the current, which kept Lance busy, supplied him with endless amounts of joy, and he was sure, was the reason for the grey hair Hunk had found hidden beneath his hairband the other day.

Lance grinned, a swagger in his step, even as he tried to be extra sneaky traipsing through the empty corridors in the dead of night. Until he got to the dreaded Door of Doom. He eyed it with suspicion, cursed it to the heavens, and quickly opened it, quietly slipping inside. Loathing filled his gaze. _Ugh_, he thinks with disgust.

The communal showers.

At least it had forced him to try to hone his control.

Usually, back when he had lived with the cousin-of-a-cousin-of-a-something (she was a selkie, so definitely not closely related) and had had the bathroom to himself, he'd relished in the few minutes he could soak in the water and stare at his glowing marks and drown in his memories. Sprouting a tail in the middle of the shower with a dozen other young adult males definitely would be stranger than most of the strange things that could and did happen in showers.

Lance was getting better, though. He no longer changed every time, but it still happened, sometimes. It took nearly an hour of meditation for him to be sure that he'd be safe for a few minutes under the water.

But when he was exhausted, when his unit had failed another simulation or when one of the asshole instructors had told him he sucked, told Hunk he was useless or had once again bullied Pidge because of his size, Lance knew that going under the water would be risky. Therefore, when the others had headed off to shower during the designated time, he'd ducked out, not wanting to risk it.

He was sort of starting to figure out the whole camouflage thing, as well, but the air had to be really, really wet. It wouldn't work out in the desert, that's for sure, but then again, if Lance was ever forced to consider using his camo abilities in the desert, then he was likely already pretty close to, you know, dying.

But yes, he was proud about the little bit of control that he now possessed, and he was sure, that wherever his mom and sister and brothers, and the rest of his pod were, swimming in the endless ocean amongst the stars, they would be proud of him too. Maybe that's why he wanted to go to space so badly.

Lance snorted at his own thoughts. _Yeah, right_. He wasn't that ridiculous. He'd accepted that they were gone, but he'd also accepted that there was nothing for him here and he was damned good at running away from his problems. Fleeing into space also would be the ultimate F.U to the planet that had allowed his family to die. Lance realised how delusional that was, to blame a freakin' planet, but what else could he do? Blame himself? Yeah, he did that too.

He didn't blame humans. Couldn't. Not all humans were bad, just like how all Mer weren't good, but the supposed 'magic' that had birthed his people had done nothing when the hunters had come; when the flames were summoned to scorch their skins and burn souls into their dark eyes.*

Lance closed his eyes on a wince, swallowing back bile and tears and shivers. _Stop_, he admonished. _You're here to shower_.

And so that's what he did.

He let the icy, icy water spill over his skin and sighed with bliss. He missed home. Luckily, he preferred his water cold since the hot water would have alerted the authorities. But for a few minutes every night, when everyone else on their floor slept, Lance felt more like himself than he had in a long time.

And he was still standing solidly on two feet. So far, so good.

He leaned his head against the tiles, thanking the Moon, that he couldn't catch any of the human fungi or bacteria that likely lurked on every surface. Water tumbled over his back, a reassuring pitter-patter, like rain on the waves, light little kisses-

_Shit_, Lance froze. Panic spilt into his veins. That beep…

The reason why the showers weren't monitored as strictly as say the toilets or the kitchens, was because they were locked whenever not in use. The only way he could get access was because Pidge had shown him how to hack the system, how to jimmy the electronic key. Actually he was still just using the programme he'd been given. Lance just didn't _get_ computers.

So, _w__ho_?

Lance turned off the water, cursing the sudden sharp pangs of pain slicing through his cells. It always hurt more if he struggled, but not now! He didn't want to change now!

But the change gripped him, as merciless as the sea, and Lance had to bite down on his lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape. He stumbled over to the corner of the shower and collapsed wetly on the floor.

"Hello?"

A voice called, but through the tinny whine in his head, Lance couldn't quite make out who.

"Anyone here?"

It sounded like a student though.

Lance felt his legs merge and scales rippled and he had to hold back the gasp as his marks threatened to flair. Now _that_ would certainly give him away. Pulling the water to him, he focused on becoming invisible, on blending in. If an octopus could do it, Lance surely must be able to do it under pressure.

Hopefully, it was just someone on a dare, or maybe a very smart idiot who missed the shower bell, and whoever would be quick about it. Lance flickered out of sight, grateful for the ugly, dirty brown of the tiles which made it easier for him to blend in.

_Don't see me, don't see me,_ Lance chanted in his head, eyes wide and black in the dark. _You can't see me, don't see me, I am awesomely invisible, don't see-_

Wait, Pidge?

Lance frowned. The adrenaline that was boosting his powers faltered at the sight of the boy whom he considered a friend.

What was Pidge doing here? Pidge, who was looking decidedly suspicious as he came into view, carried a small satchel and an even smaller digital padlet that glowed a soft green.

With a few presses, one of the lights hummed on and Lance nearly hissed as they burned his too sensitive eyes. Another click set the pipes rumbling and Lance realised that Pidge must be hacking the entire system, and not just the door. He would be able to get warm water and use the lights, and just divert the power surges to other places in the Garrison.

Which was all great and well, and Lance was impressed by _his_ little communications officer, but, the question still remained to be begged: _why? _

And then Lance got his answer. Because Pidge very quickly, quietly, efficiently began removing his clothes.

And Lance frowned again. Because Pidge must have some serious injuries, or scars maybe. Because thick bandages strapped over his chest.

And Lance was confused. Because Pidge didn't even really needed the bandages, even if he happened to be a girl since there wasn't really anything to show- wait!

_What_?!

_Pidge was a girl_!

And Lance swallowed his questions. Because Pidge could fuckin' be whoever they wanted as long as they continued being fuckin' awesome. Pidge was his unit's only shot to the top, after all. Hunk was great and Lance was awesome, but Pidge was god-tier.

And then Lance squeaked. Because Pidge became glowy and kind of seethrough. Because Pidge was not only a girl but also a ghost.

"You're dead?" Lance asked the glowing spectre, a strange sadness crashing over him. She was glowing silver at the edges, and she was so delicate and fine, and Lance knew, he just knew, that if he reached out to touch her, his fingers would brush right through her unnaturally thin arms.

For a ghost, Pidge didn't react very well. For one, she glowed brighter and Lance winced his eyes shut.

If not a ghost, maybe an angel? Were the Nephilim still around?

He opened his eyes again when he no longer saw volcanoes erupting behind his closed lids.

"Who's there? Where are you?" Pidge had her towel clutched to her torso with one hand and a toothbrush clutched in the other, fiercely slashing it in front of her, as she spun in circles, looking for the threat. "Show yourself!" She was no longer glowing and appeared solid once more.

Lance looked down at himself, surprised that his camouflage had held. He nudged his focus a bit, twitched the muscles in his tail, and when they didn't turn back into legs, he released his focus with a sigh.

"It's just me, Pidge," he said, trying to make himself as small as possible even though his tail added another half a metre to his height. He didn't want to scare her but he knew that his appearance could be frightening to those who weren't used to the long limbs of Mer.

His webbed hands ended in sharp nails, and fins ran up his forearms and the small of his back. His eyes weren't black anymore since the overhead light was much too bright to require blown pupils, but they would still appear disconcertingly _other._ By Mer standards, Lance was actually quite handsome, but most humans would merely view him with disgusted fascination. And horror.

"Lance?" Pidge sounded both shocked and relieved, and he took that as a good sign. At least she had recognised him. They were teammates, but it had only been almost a month, so Lance wasn't sure how much Pidge would be willing to trust him.

Her sharp eyes, seeming even larger without the glasses, slid over his form. Bluntly, she said, "You're a fish."

Lance's temper flared. Nobody could look good, per se, in the harsh industrial lighting, but he was very definitely not a fish.

"I'm Mer, thank you very much. And you?" He blustered trying to find something insulting to compare her to since it would be much easier to write poetry about her visage. "You must be a… twig spirit, or a…"

_Pathetic, Lance_! He scolded himself.

Pidge seemed to wait expectantly for his next guess, though, but Lance could think of nothing, and so relented, "A faerie?"

And Pidge's eyes brightened, like when she saw a particularly complex puzzle or when Hunk baked his coconut-cluster-cookie-things or when one of Lance's hairbrained plans actually worked.

"Close," she said. "But technically I'm an elf, or high fae, if you must. Just fae will do."

She shrugged at his frown, mistaking the question in it. "We try not to be so classicist these days."

Lance nodded, as if, sure, that was perfectly normal and made perfect sense. Because it did. He couldn't expect fairy tales to remain set in stone. He certainly hadn't. Remaining stuck in one's ways – that's how the djinn and the kappas and the old gods died out, after all. Adaptation meant survival.

"Cool," was all he could offer her. "Uh, sorry about this, by the way, I am still working on changing at will." He grimaced at his situation. It felt so impossibly ridiculous.

"Oh." Pidge played nervously with the edges of her towel which she had hastily wrapped around herself. It was fraying slightly, green fronds coming apart at the seams.

They were both without clothes and although he'd like to change back, he didn't want to do it in front of Pidge. Not just because, well, it was a bit jarring to watch, but also because he'd be very naked.

And he definitely didn't want to be naked in front of his little… whatever. Not anymore. No matter their preferred pronoun.

"Could you throw me my towel?" he asked, nodding towards where he'd hung his on a hook on the wall.

Pidge did as he asked, but instead of throwing it, she came closer. He winced. Nobody had seen him in his Mer form since he'd turned twelve, lost his entire pod and decided to move in-land, forsaking the coast for fear of the hunters that prowled the shores.

"So, it's a physical change?" she asked as she stopped a step from him and held out the towel.

Pidge so sounded so curious and Lance almost smiled, despite the awkwardness he felt under her scrutiny. He draped the towel over his hips and nodded.

"Mine's just glamour but it took me a while to master it too. My brother, though," she scoffed. "Now, he was born a veritable master. He can even glamour his scent! I'm smarter, of cou- sorry." She blinked and her mouth clicked shut.

Lance was surprised since he had kept his features clear of any of the anguish he felt inside. Because yes, Veronica had been born a master too, splitting legs at will as soon as she could comprehend that that was the easiest way to get to the good toys, and yes, his mum was teaching him too, but…. Pidge's eyes seemed to reflect the emotions he was trying so hard to keep off his face.

She sat then. Right there on her towel on the wet-wet floor, crossing her legs, and seemed smaller than usual. "I'm sorry," she said again.

"Mind-reader?" he croaked, finding himself rifling through his own mental landscape and blushing at what she might have heard.

She shook her head, fluffy bangs and fly-aways twirling every which way. "Just an empath."

To distract them both, he asked, "Uh, so do I continue calling you 'he' or am I switching to 'they'?"

Pidge laughed and it sounded like Pidge, not like some ridiculous bells or whatnot – he's only read maybe one or two supernatural YA novels, promise.

"For now, 'he' serves me well. I am a girl, though, and Pidge is a nickname, but for the moment, I need everyone to believe I am Pidge Gunderson, the _not_-banned boy," she told him with a flourish and a wink.

He grinned at her. "A-ha! I knew you weren't the little goody-goody you were pretending to be!" And his heart felt warm, then, because gosh, his team was perfect, wasn't it? And maybe, he did read a few too many sappy romances, but everyone had always told him reading made one smarter. They hadn't said what he actually had to read.

So, here they were. He, Lance, the dashing daredevil of a pilot, Pidge, the arm-candy, and Hunk, the loyal sidekick and comic relief.** They were a trio! Someone, anyone, write a damn book! On that high, he barely noticed the spasms start.

He hadn't had a painless transformation since that fateful day along the coast of Cuba, right before his Mama had squeezed his hand and summoned a wave to take him to the soft rocks. His breath hitched because pain still lanced and arched his back, and he gasped when his flesh tore open and his tail split into two, but he felt a tiny hand in his, squeezing with a strength that gave him back the breath the pain had stolen away.

"You're okay, Lance, you're okay," Pidge muttered, and he believed her. Pidge was never wrong, after all.

* * *

*I know I'm writing this set somewhere in the future, but cults and superstitious humans discriminating against differences will always exist. Lance's eyes, which turn completely black to see in dark caves and deep in the ocean, would appear demonic to anyone not in the know. And just like us, he can't control his pupil size. I also wanted him to look like something that would live in the ocean. Still pretty but scary or strange when those features are on a human. So, his shape is smooth and streamlined, like an eel, but with sharp claws and sharper teeth. His scales and fins are the colour of his eyes, and he has patterned markings over his torso, back and shoulders that he can make glow in the water to attract prey.

**Lance is still Lance - a loveable idiot, and a little bit delusional.


End file.
